B1K5 




"(Behold the place where they laid Him." 



\V 



%«et|iii0itiif. 



"■They shall bring him unto the grave, and he shall he 
laid ill the tomb, and the clods of the valley shall he sweet 
-"Mo him. 

'^Oh, that Thou wouldest hide me in the grave, that Thou 
wouldest keep me secret until Thy lorath he past.^^ 



J. ¥. kii)^, M- ® 



r. A, HANZSCKEi rit. 




Class _rili 
Book.^5LiJ<i 



COpyRIGHT DEPOSm 







'^(Behold the place where they laid Him/' 




*'They shall hriag him unto the grave, and he shall be 
laid in the tomb, and the clods of the valley shall be sioeet 



unto him.^^ 



*'0h, that Thou wouldest hide me in the grave, that Thou 
wouldest keep me secret until Tlnj wrath be past^'"^'^', ■ ~- 



■y,^ 



]'. ¥. Kiqg, M. ©: 



1J7G 



••r— 



i&^ 






A^^ai^f-r. ^ <^ 






Enteri^d accovdiug to Act of Congress, in the year 187*, 

BY JOHN T. KING, M. D., 
in the oflice of the Librarian of Congre^.s. at Washingtoia. 



r 



%itenn|aunt. 







WS there a soul so callous as not to be touched and awed 
ll upon enteriDg this sacred and lovely City of the Dead? 
A In all directions broad, umbrageous avenues and se- 
questered paths extend and ramify — all pervaded by a fo% 
•emo, holy tenebrosity, produced by the dense, folial canopy 
.and interlacing boughs of Greeumouut's majestic forest tree? 

"The groves were God's first tomples, 
' 'Ere mail learned to hew the shaft 

or lay the architrave." 

Tq these arborial temples, amid deep silence, humbly tnelt 
the Christian patriarch of old, and poured forth his supplica- 
ition to the most high God. 



Almighty Father, Thy hand hath reared these venerable 
-oaks ; Thou didst weave this leafy canopy ; Thou didst look 
down upon the barren earth, and at Thy command forthwith 
arose in all their grandeur these venerable trees, and all this 
:sylvan beauty. 

Here they stand solemn and silent, fit shrine f)r the hum- 
ble worshipper to kneel beside, to hold communion with hi:: 
Lord and Maker. 




6 



Greenmouxt Cemetery. 



This mighty oak, at whose feet T stand, beside which I am 
dwarfed almost to insignificanee, in his green coronal of leaves 
made by tho Almighty's hand, in majesty far excels the 
mightiest monarchs of the proud world beyond. 

Beneath this cool and verdant dome, in these hallowed 
shades, incline Thou my heart to fervent prayer and holy med- 
itation — impress me with the wisdom, beauty, sublimity 
and order of Thy works. 

All around the heavenly stillness is unbroken, save by the 
gentle footfall of the sorrowing visitor or mournful pilgrim, 
tearfully wending his or her way to the spot 




" where they laid him." 

In joyous springtime, at nature's resurrection, and iL ge- 
nial summer, is heard the joyous warblings of 





Delighted birds 

as they disport amid the boughs and foliage of the leafy 
grove, enlivened by vitalizing !*un-bcams and vernal air, feu- 
prenicly happy in their f^acred sylvan home. 



GrEENMOUNT CEMETEKi. 7 

Ever and anon is heard the metallic tinklings and liquid 
murmur of yon crystal spring that from the rocky cleft or 
mossy nook wells forth to 1 ive refreshingly and quench the 
thirst — to minister alike to the humblest flower, the tiniest 
grass-spear and the majestic tree. 

Amid these solemn shades, in this silent City of the Dead, 
in this monumental wilderness, all can realize that this world 
is but vanity, and ask themselves the question " What will 
it profit one to gain the whole world and lose his soul." 

Here the arrogant and proud can linger, and be convinced 
that they are but the dust of the earth, and that " the paths 
of glory lead but to the grave." 

In Greenmount's sacred avenues and quiet walks theChrii?t- 
ian will delight to roan), conitojted by tlje assurance that the 
dark and silent grave is but the portal of eternal blisF, and 
that they will surely hear at the final day the jr»>ful saluta- 
tion, " well done, thou ^ood and faithful servant, enter thou 
into the joy of thy Lord." 

One may see, pe'chanee, the tottorinf', hoary pil>i:rim, bow- 
ed upon his staif, and with up-turned eyes, imploring, 




■" Lord, lot not my gr^iy hairs go down into the grave, 
until I have told the rising generation of thy mercy and 
loving kindness." 



8 Greenmount Cemetery. 

Amid this flo'-al bloom and garniture could litile childrea 
delight to roira, knowing from parental teaching that they 
are especially dear unto, and constantly in their Heavenly 
Father's care and keeping, and that he has enjoined to. 




*' Suffer little children to come unto him, and to forbid them 
oot, — for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." 

Hure the inquisitive, tender miud would be prone to ask, 

" Mother, where is that radiant shore 
Where we shall meet to part no more, 
Is it where floweis of the orange blows 
Where the warm bright sun forever glows?" 

" Not there, not there, mj child." 

'*Is it where the feaTherj pilm trees rise 

And the date grows ripe under sunny skies 

Is it far away in some region old 

Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, 

And the pearl gleams foith from the coral strand, 

Is it there, sweet mother, that liappy land*^" 

"Not there, not there, my child." 

" Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ; 
Etr hath uoi heard its deep sounds of joy; 
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, 
'Tis beyond the bright clouds. — it is* there. 

xMv child." 



Greenmount Cemetery. 9 

*• To all ages and conditions is such a hallowed spot in- 
viting and conifortiog, here can be enjoyed moments of 
respite from sin and folly, and calm intervals for profitable 
reflection and itelf-examination." 



On every hand are ornate monuments and graceful 
shafts and tablets, chaste in desig.i, and wrought in the 
sculptor's highest art; upon almost every monument and 
grassy mound are floral garlands of exquisite flowers and 
lovely *' immortelle>i," glittering and fragrant with the morn- 
ing dew: daily beside tliein may be seen lingering and kneel- 
ing the weeping mourner — perchance some sorrowing mother, 
with up-turned eyes, and hands clasped convulsively in prayer, 
lamenting in deep bitterness of woe and refusing to be com- 
forted. Here can be heard the orphan's plaint and the wi- 
dow's wail and tiie father's manly lamentation, as in convul- 
sive utterances he exclaims as did King David : 

'* Alas my noble boy, that thou shouldst die, 
Thou who wert made so beautifully fair. 
That death should settle in thy glorious eye 
And leave his cold chill in thy clustering hair." 
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb- 



And the disconsolate partner in life, of the one that sleeps 
in death, in frantic anguish finds utterance in sad soliloquy, 



" The grave hath won thee : 
Must thy dark tresses to the cold earth be fluug, 
Will ihou no more with thy sweet smile 
Come to greet me ?" 



-"Farewell, 



'Tis hard to give thee up, 
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee, 
Like a bruised reed. I ana waitinsf— wait ins: — 
For God to call me like a wanderer home." 



The wordling can solace himself with that sweetest elegy, 



10 



Greenmcuxt Cemeteuy. 




Beneath these riiJifetl oaks, ttmt elm tree's sliad\ 
"Where heav( s the turl in many a u.ouldeiing heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 




Can storied urn or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the tleeting breath, 

Can honor's voice provoke the s-ilent dust 
Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
And all that beauty, all that earth ere gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour. 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

One morn I missed hiin on t'le accustomed hill 
Along the heath, and near hi<=i favorite tree. 

Another came — Qor yet beside the rill. 
Nor up the lawn, uor at the wood was he. 

The next, with dirges duo, and sid array, 

Slow through tiie church way path me saw him b mrne 
Approach and read, for thou canVt read the lay, 



"I7*^S^-^^' 




Graved on the stone bcneatli \(-n agid thorn, 



GllEEN MOUNT CE\IKri5RY. 11 

No further seek his merits to disclose 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

There they alike in trembling hope repose, 
The bosoQ) of his father and his GtKl. 



IN front of the main entrance to Grcenmount, upon a ver- 
dant, gracefully rounded eminence, stands the chapel, a 
— Gothic structure, of brown-stone. It is elaborately and or- 
nately sculptured, presenting a strikingly beautiful specimen 
of ecclesiastical architecture. 

The design is from one of the chapels in Westminster Ab- 
bey, London. 

GREENMOUNTS 

OF THE 

GOOD, BRAVE AND BEAUTIFUL. 

GRAVE wherever found, preaches a short and pithy les- 
son to the soul ; and it is well for us occasionally to pass 
fJjJL an hour in the silence of God's acre, as a species of soul's^ 
exercise or mental lesson, to remind us of the great aims and 
objects of a true man's life, and we cannot do better than 
quote the beautiful reflections of Washington Irving : 

" Oh, the grave !— the grave ! it buries every error — covers every 
defect — extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom 
spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can 
look down upon the grave evm of an enemy, and not feel a com- 
punctious throb that he should ever have warred with the poor 
handful of eaith that lies mouidcriDg before him V 

But the grave of those we loved — what a jdace for meditation! 
There it is that we call up a Ioiil' r( view the whole history of vir- 
tue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon 
\iS. almost unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy — there it 
is tdat we dwell upon the temicrness, the solemn, awful tender- 
ness of the parting scene. The bed of death, with all its stifled 



12 Greenmount Cemetery. 

P'iefs— its noiseless attenda?ice — its mute, watchful assiduities. 
The last testimonies af expiring love! Tlie feeble, tiutteriog, 
thrilling! — pressure of the hand. The last fond look of the glaz 
ing eye turning upon us even from the threshold of existence! 
The faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more 
assurance of affection ? 

Ay, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate ! There set- 
tle the account with thy conscience lor every past benefit unre- 
quited — every past endearment unregarded, of that departed be- 
ing, who can never — never — never return to be soothed by thy 
contrition ! 

If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul or 
a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent — if thou 
art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured 
its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kind- 
ness or thy truth — if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in 
Ihought or word or deed, the spirit that generously confided in 
thee — if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang 
to that true heart wiiich now lies cold and still beneath thy feet : 
— then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, 
every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memo- 
ry, and knocking dolefully at thy soul — then be sure that thou 
wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter tlie 
unheard groan and pour the unavailing tear : more deep, more 
bitter, because unheard and unavailing. 

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties ol 
nature about tlie grave ; console thy broken spirit, if thou canst 
with these tender, yet futile tributes of regret; but take warning 
by the bitterness ot this thy contrite affliction over the dead, and 
hencelbrth be more fail liful and affectionate in the discharge of thy 
duties to the living " 



Greenmount Cemetery. 13 



I HE first interment that occurred in Greenmount was 
that of an infant, December 29, 1839, which was mem- 
^ orialized by a beautiful poem from the gifted pen of S. 
Teackle Wallis, Esq., of the Baltimore bar. 



GRAVE OF MAJOR SAMUEL RINGGOLD 

Once inclosed by a fence of Mexican gun-barrels and bayo- 
nets captured in the Mexican war, now a plain marble slab, 
bears the inscription, *' Mortally wounded at Palo Alto, May 
8, 1845, died at Corpus Christi, May 10, 1846." By his side 
sleeps the gallant brother, Cadwallader Ringgold, Rear- Ad- 
miral, U. S. Navy. 



GRAVE OF COL. WILLIAM H. WATSON, 

Commander of the Bj,ltim3re Batalliou in the Mexican war; 
was killed at Monterey. 



Grave op a Soldibii and Defender of 1813 and 1814, 
GEN. WM. H. WINDER. 

A tall obelisk with urn, and a medallion portrait of de- 
ceased. Gen, Winder, of tlie Confederate Army, was a soa 
of this hero of 1SV2. 



Grave of the Founder op Odd-Fellowship in America. 

PAST GRAND SIRE THOMAS WILDE Y. 

Thomas Wildey was born in England in 1783. Died iq 
1861. Together with two others he established on the •'^6th 
day of April, 1819, Washington Lodge, No. 1, in the*"city 
of Baltimore. A beautiful marble monument is erected to 
his memory in the centre of Broadway, north of Baltimore 
Street, upon a commanding e-ninence. 



14 Greenmount Cemetehy. 

MONUMENT OF THE GREAT TRAGEDIAN BOOTH, 

And bis cliildreu, among the latter are the remains of 
John Wilkes Booth. 

JonN Wilkes Booth as is universally known, assassinated 
President Lincoln at the Opera House in Washington, fied to- 
Virginia, was then captured and shot in self-defence, in aa 
old tobacco barn. His remains vere clandestinely buried by 
the U. S. Government, and for a long time the Government 
refused to betray the spot, or surrender his remains to hifr 
friends. 



MONUMENT IN LOT OF ENOCH PRATT. 

Scotch granite, which is handsomely variegated, stone cap- 
able of the fruest polish. 

Monument of 

JAMES O. LAW, Ex-Mayor of Baltimore. 

Mayor 0. Law died June 6th, 1847, of ship fever, in the 
service of the destitute. 



MONUMENT TO ANOTHER MARTYR, FERGUSON. 

When the yellow fever raged with such fearful fury in the 
city of Norfolk, Ferguson, a Baltimorean, at the head of the 
citizens, toiled day and night, relieving the sick and burying 
the dead, and at last was stricken down by the merciless pes- 
tilence. 



MARBLE MONUMENT OF WILLIAM M'DONAtD, 
Ornate and Costly 



MONUMENT OF ROBERT OLIVER, 

Phoprietor of Greenmount. 

Here lies the remains of the former owner of this beautiful 
spot, where as his country scat he spent so many happy hours- 
of his life. A tall Gothic, ornately sculptured shaft tells the 
story of the instability of all earthly things, and teaches with 
fcublime iniprcssivenes? that every path of life however illustri- 
ous or ob>cuie leads but to the grave. 



Greenmount Cemetery. 15 

GRAVE OF WILLIAM SCHLEY. 
A scholar and eminent lawyer of the Baltimore Bar. 



LOT OF BENJAMIN F. GATOR. 

An exquisite statue of an Angel teaching immortality from 
the Book of Life. 



LOT OF HON. THOMAS SWANN, U. S. SENATOR, 

A massive cross of pure white marble, and an elegant niar- 
"ble tablet at its side. Here bene-ith the roses that exhale 
their fragrance and bright flowers rest in the embrace of death 
the beautiful and good in life. 



LOT OF HUGH SISSON. 
Two marble sleeping infants, executed in the sculptor*s 
highest art, in commemoration of deceased children. 



GRAVE OF WILLIAM WARREN, 
A Celebrated Actor. 



MONUMENT OF WILLIAM T. WALTERS. 

This is one of the most expensive, and beautifully designed 
monuments in Greenmount. It was erected by Mr. Wil- 
liam T. Walters, of Baltimore, over the remains of his wife. 
It represents a female strewing flowers on the grave beneath. 
It is of bronze and was designed by Rhinehart, the Baltimore 
sculptor. 

MONUMENT OF CAPTAIN GEORGE RUSSELL, 
Shaft and Anchor. 



MONUMENT OF JOHN BOYD, 
Tennessee Marble. 



MONUMENT OF JOSEPH BOURY. 



MONUMENT OF R. A. TAYLOR. 



16 



Greenmount Cemetehy. 




MONUME^TT OF JOHN G. McDONOGH, 
FouEder of tie Mcroncgh School for Beys, near Baltimore. 

Born in the city of Baltimore in 1779. Died in New Or- 
leans, 1850. The mount consists of a heavy granite base, 
supporting a marble pedestal 14 feet in height, upon which 
rests the statue of the deceased, larger than life size. The 
pedestal contains an inscription by himself, and the rules 
that he has observed for his guidance in life. 



Grave op an Explorer, 

COMMODORE WM. F. LYNCH, U. S. NAVY. 

Upon this tablet is a sword and anchor; Commodore Lynch 
commanded the U. S. Exploring Expedition of 1848 to the 
Dead Sea and River Jordan, 



Greenmount Cemetery. 17 



"META 



White marble sarcophagus, covered with heavy marble 
pall, one of the most elaborately executed, and beautiful in 
•design in Greenmount. 

GRAVE OF JOHNS HOPKINS, 

Tke Millionaire and Founder of the Johns Hopkins Hospital and Uni- 
versity. 



Lot and \f0NUMENT OF 

ANDREW M'LAUGHLIN AND DAVID BARNUM. 
In this lot are two tombs, upon one is a marble sleeping in- 



fant. 



Monument of " To our Sister," 

ELIZABETH ANNE McPHAIL. 

Marble angel. 



MONUMENT OF SAMUEL WILHELM. 
Ornamented with exquisitely wrought marble drapery, 
vines and anchor. In the same lot, a life-sized figure of a 
female leaniiag upon an anchor. 



MONUMENT OF HENRY KNELL, 
"To OUR Mother," MARY ANN KNELL. 
Of Italian marble, ornamented with flowers, vines and 
drapery. 

LOT OF THOMiS WINANS. 

Inclosed by granite railing, massive flat vault, covered 
with heavy Tennessee marble slab. 



MONUMENT OF ASHUR CLARKE. 
Tomb and cross, erected by his former pupils. 



MONUMENT OF GOODWIN C. WILLIAMS. 
Tall Ionic shaft, with floral capital. 



18 Greenmount Cemetery. 

Monument of 

WILLIAM BOND, TO WIFE ELIZABETH, 

Full-sized female. 



LOT AND MONUMENT OF JOHN WICKS AND 
HERMAN WOODS. 



Monument of 

ANN ELIZA, WIFE OF WM. H. CUNNINGHAM. 

Angel with trumpet. 



Monument and Beautiful Crown op 

LOUISA E., WIFE OF GEORGE W. RHEA, 

And daughter of Capt. Wiugate. Died Feb. 4, 1873, in the 

26th year of her age. 

" Blest was her latest hour, 
She died forgiving and forgiven, 
Earth was no place for her to dwell, 
Her resting place is Heaven." 



MONUMENT OF RICHARD MASON, 



Female Figure. 



MONUMENT OF JOHN CONTEE, 
Shaft and Urn. 



TOMB OF ALBERT SCHUMACHER, 

High massive granite base, surmounted by tomb. 



MONUMENT OF NOAH WALKER. 

"White marble shaft, female with child in arms in niche, 
lot feurrouuded by massive stoue railing. 



MONUMENT OF J. COLTON. 
Female figure and cross. 



Greenmount Cemetery. 19 

LOT OF REVERDY JOHNSON. 
Grave, with large marble cross. 



LOT OF ROBERT GARRETT AND HENRY GARRETT. 
Shaft and tomb. 



MONUMENT OF GEORGE BROWN. 
Marble shaft. 



MONUMENT OF CAVANAGH. 
Marble figure and cross. 



MONUMENT OF JOHN C0ATE3. 



MONUMENT OF HUGH GELSTON 
Surmounted by an elaborate urn. 



MONUMENT OF ZENUS BARNUM. 



MONUMENT OF H. J. ROBERTS. 
Female seated in a rocking chair. 



MONUMENT OF THOMAS. 

Marble base, representing a pile of rocks upon which rests 
a shaft, surmounted by an urn, embellished with vines spir- 
ally winding the shaft. 

MONUMENT OF SAMUEL CAUGHEY. 
Weeping female and urn. 



Monument op 

ANNIE E., WIFE OF VIRGINIUS GADDES3. 

Marble angel, pointing heavenward. 



?0 Greenmount Cemktery 



MONUMENT OF GEHRMANN. 

Shaft and female leaning on an anchor, exquisite in de- 
sign and execution. 



MONUMENT OF GREEN^WAY. 
Figure reading from a book, with a dog fondling beside. 



MONUMENT OF JACOB HORN. 
Female figure 



MONUMENT OF A. S ABELL, TO WIFE. 



PUBLIC MAUSOLEUM. 

The public mausoleum of Grreenmount is of granite and of 
the Egyptian order of sepulchral architecture. 



PRIVATE MAUSOLEA AND VAULTS. 

VAULT OF GEARY AND WEALE. 
This is a magnificent vault, it contains a fiuely sculptured 
Sgure of St. Joseph. 

VAULT OF D. L. HAMMER3LEY. 



VAULT OF THE WEST AND DRYDEN FAMILY. 

This is one of the handsomest in Greenmouut. 



VAULT OF JAMES STIRRATT. 

The doors of this vault are nearly all the time open, and 
in the vestibule miy be seen beautiful statues and fresh flow- 
ers, over the portal is inscribed in golden letters, memento 
morl. 



VAULT OF JOHN H. WEAVER, Undertaker, 

This is a spacious and elegant vault, decorated with art 
and good taste, it contains about eighty bodies, among them 
13 that of a cliild which has been there seventeen years and 
irt now in a good state of preservation. 



Greenmount Cemetery. 21 

VAULT OF HENRY PLACIDE. 
Marble figure and anchor. 



BOYCE VAULT. 



VAULT OF JAMES BATES. 



VAULT OF PHILLIP CHAPPELL. 



22 Oreenmount Cemetery. 



DED I CATI ON 

OF 



REENMOUNT was the name given to the country seat of 
the late Robert Oliver, in the vicinity of Baltimore. 
During his life, Mr, Oliver spared no expense in beautifying 
it ; and aided by its natural advantages, he left it, at his death, a 
highly ornamented and most lovely spot. It was purchased from 
his heirs by an association of gentlemen, who appropriated sixty 
acres of it to the establishment of the public Cemetery, whose 
dedication gave rise to the ceremonial, of which the following 
pages are the record. 

The dedication took place on the grounds, in the open air, in a 
grove of forest trees, on the evening of Saturday, July 13th, 1839. 

The hour for commencing the ceremonies of the dedication 
having arrived, the Musical Associationof Bnllimore, who lent their 
most valuable services on the occasion, sang the following chorale, 
from the Oratorio of St. Paul : 

"Sleepers wake, a voice is calling, 

It is tlie watchman on ther walls: 

Thou city of Jerusalem ! 

P"or lo ! the bridegroom comes ! 

Arise, and take your lamps! 

Hallelujah ! 

Awake, his kingdom is at hand, 

Go forth to meet j'our Lord !" 

PRAYER, 

BY REV. WILLIAM E. WYATT, RECTOR OF SAINT TAUL's. 

Our Fattier in lieaven, we who dwell in iiouses of clay, and are 
CTUShed before the moth, approach to render homage to Him that 
inhabiteth eternity. Strangers and pilgrims as we are upon the 
earth, we would Iny the foundations ot a city of the dead And 
taught by this narrow field, destintd to be the leceptacle of 
successive generations, we discern the vanity and frailt}' of our 
nnture, and we take refuge at the foot cf thy throne, O Most 
Miglity, Cieator of the ends of the earth, whose judgment? are a 
great deep. Belore the mountiuns weie biought tbrth,or ever the 



Greenmount Cemetery. if 

earth and the worlds were made from everlasting to everlasting^ 
thou, and thou only, art GOD. Together with the adoring tribute 
of creatures to their Creator, we otfer thee our thanksgivings, for 
all the dispensations of thy love and bounty, thy care and 
providence, thy forbearance and pity. More especially we praise 
thee for the glorious hope of immortality; and that beyond 
our bed of corruption, and our sleep in dust, there is a bright 
world of perfections and privileges, spiritaal and like thyself, 
everlasting. Great God, we thank thee for all the means and 
instruments of attiining this unspeakable gift; for thy written 
word, with its mighty attestations ; for tliy life-giving doctrines; 
thy strengthening ordinance; thy consoling graces. A-bove al',. 
we thank thee for sending eternal redemption to us by the blood 
of thine own incarnate Son. O accept our worship and praise, that 
thou art reconciling the world unto thyself by Jesus Christ, 
not imputing their trespasses unto them ; and that in him we have- 
*' complete redemption." 

It is thy gracious promise, Lord, who dost guide thy people hi 
thy strength to thy holy habitation, that if we lean not to- 
our own understanding, but commit our way unto the Lord, thou 
wilt bring it to pass. We therefore come bef(*re thee to invoke 
thy blessing upon the undertaking of thy servants heie assembled, 
who, according to the example of the patriarchs and thy people of 
old, are about to set apart " a field for a burying place," when we, 
and ours, shall be gataered unto our fiithers. The earth is thine, 
O Lord, and the fullness thereof, and meet it is that we should 
solemnly dedicate to the blended purposes of religion and charity,. 
a portion of what thou hast given to our use. Meet it is that here, 
beneath the shade of the majestic wood, in a holy solitude and 
silence, they who have fulfilled their pilgrimage, and rest from 
their labors, should wait in peace ihe summons of the Resurrection 
morn. Our Father, take this sequestered asylum to thy special 
providence. Ever spread over it the shadow of thy wings. With 
gentler dispensation than of old, when sin had driven our fathers 
from Eden, let angels, though unseen, guard its entrance. Let 
not the foot of pride or folly, or violence, come near to unhallow 
it. And although no voice of admonition can reach the dull ear 
of death, nor prayer avail to change the doom which thou 
hast here sealed, yet gracious Lord, may each grassy mound, and 
each marble memorial, utter a thrilling warning to the living, and 
fill this page of man's history with lessons of wisdom to every heart. 

When to anyone among us, thy decree shall go forth, "dust 
thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return ; " and when the mourn- 
ing train has hither borne the loved one to the house appointed 
for all living, and with holy rites we seek at th}' hands consolation 
and strength ; have thou respect unto the prayer of thy minister- 
ing servants, and to their supplication, O Lord our God, to 
hearken to tlie cry of sorrow, and to the prayer of faith, which 
may reach thy footstool from tliese sepulchres ; and hear thou in, 
heaven, thy dwelling place, and when thou hearest, forgive. 



24 Greenmount Cemetery. 

God of consolation, may tliy Spirit ever be present to minister to 
the bereaved whom thy providence shall draw within these sacred 
enclosures; and vvhile resigned, they bow meekly before thy 
sovereign, though sometimes inscrutable, decrees, inspire. Lord, 
the soothing reflection, that, '* to die is gain ; " that here the wicked 
cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest ; that here tempta- 
tion expires, and each toilsome task is fulfilled, and transient 
sorrow turned into everlasting joy. When in bitter anguish they 
shall look into the graves here to be opened as into a fearful 
abyss, dividing them from all that can render life joyous, O do thou 
teach them, that that separation shall be short; that quickly shall 
all the scenes and illusions of time vanish ; and that, in the land 
of spirits, soon sliall every holy tie be again bound, and severed 
hearts be forever re-united. 

All-wise God, in this vestibule of the unseen world, where 
through the clustering oaks, the perpetual dirge of winds seems the 
response of awful rites within, inspire us with lessons of heavenly- 
mindedness and devotion. From yonder stately mansion,* where 
once was heard the viol and the harp, but henceforth the sanctuary 
of offices for the dead, let us learn tlie instability of earthly things. 
From the slow funeral pageant, which entering with touching 
ritual, within these walls, in the proud mausoleum shall deposit 
the remains of the professor of rank and wealth, may we all 
be taught the folly of pride. And when the learned and the 
mighty shall here say to corruption, " thou art my father, and to 
the worm, thou art my mother and sister," may the friendless and 
the poor be inspired with contentment under the brief humilia- 
tions of their lot; and may they lay if to heart, that every path of 
life, however illustrious or obscure, ends alike but in a silent, nar- 
row cell. 

In the view of the mouldering masses of corruption which shall 
soon swell this verdant turf, grant, most just and holy God that 
the madness of profligacy and excess, may be mightily urged 
upon every conscience. Teach the youthful and the passioned, 
musing in these avenues of the charnel house, that the ways 
of guilty pleasure lead to premature ruin, and that the wages of 
sin is death. Here, let those who, in sottish idolatry of the world, 
are putting off from day to day the work of conversion to God, 
discern the danger of procrastination. Teach them the appalling 
truth, that *' there is but a step between us and death." And 
while the tombs of the young, and the vigorous, and tlie bold, who 
have not lived out half their days, disclose the brief memorial 
of frustrated plans, and presumptuous hopes, may they startle 
every conscience into greater diligence of preparation for the 
Master's coming. 

Here, in this quiet retreat from the turmoil of the world, 
teach us, O our Father, the fruitlessness of discord, and the little- 
ness of ambition. Looking into the noiseless chambers of the 

*The seat of the late Robert Oliver, Esq., to be couvertad i,nto a. 
chapel lor tlie Cemetery. 



GUEKNMOUNT CEMETERY. 25 

,.^., ..ero once ^^g^^^ ^^^::^^^^ 

side, may our hearts be tc ucl c(l ^\ .\7^s;,ii,g\ere the end 
which disturb the P^jl^^f ^^^^ .'"^: J^i'l 9 may w? shun the vain 

t^i-:^^ a-rs ::i^ri5^'^hos/things which .« 

si)iritual and eternal 

When the wan and tl,e weary cimd of diHease st^^^^^^^^^ 
beside an open sepulchre, ^nd the v.B.on ^^^^^^l i,^x^oduis 
and eternal desolations f^'^'f ^.,^;^'\\\„^°;;d and tuy^st^ sustain 
into his heart, do tliou. ^^'>/;^' ^ th thy roa ana y ^ ^^^ 
and cheer him. In tbe«.nd.tot it gloom insm ^j^^^^^ 

™Lrri'rrieCn^y^lirf„f>nV:;e«^sS .,e..oU,,a„. not 



another " 



When holy bonds, cemented under i,.y -I^^^J ^^^^^^^^^ 

alliances of kindred or f^^^f^^^^P^ vie ^^e "pon the stranded 
i„g thus upon the shore of ^^eimt , wt ^»/e p ^^^^ 

bark of the now distant voyager, L > < ; ^^."^^^ >/ ^l,. ^1,-,,1, i once 
inquiry, " Have the vows and ^^\^/'"^f /,' ',,t, ie,t undcme for 
assu.nid, been faithful yd.Bcharged , .^'^^^.^f ,^1 , .^ of grateful 
bis temporal good? Wit dio.d.nu^ ^^ • //rwh o^Mcinains n.)W 
.ttVetion, bave lenibitteredt u. days Of m w .e^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^^ 

insensate beioi. '-. ^,. ^^i;^ J^i^^i^' , -Jit now isf beyc>nd the 
,,hange=.ble state, ^h^ « he m y^.^^ ^,^^j g,,,,t 

iTMcholmy aid. my 1'= y^'^'. '...^^liUMhese, controlling our 
...acious Lord, that -,^1^1^';^^;^;,^^ the spirit of 

t^::^ r St^U-^; t^'inteieou^ ofsuch as survive. 

T,..>u Great First (^..use, Fountain -^ .^^'^y ,;^::\::[':i^:i 
tby gospel, hast brought life ^-n . mm)onaldy ._. 

he hapless seepm. the pow.-r \>f J;]!';\,^':^^ ,MS<-erl.tin, 

what would be the relug(. '» , ; ^^ s .^n ' iU da.UneHH and 
the cemetery ^nd rearing tie ;"".'•. ";,;,,„,,,,vin^ .-lementH 
Ldoom were the last stage of oui .'•*-'"^.; . \' . „„,, if her(^ an 

of the b(,dy reveal the utter J-^'-'V/ .J ' // . l.-V l.ti..ns c.f the 
ir7>n destiny called us to ^banchm m.v . <»^^.^ ■ '^^ ^^,^^, ^„^ 

„.ave the inl^uit - 'J^ '-;; '"^ ;, ^'n'ould 'the voi<-e 

(•her shed riend 1 itying uoo, wn. ■ i.niiviiorlnt!; sense 

of Uicvi.hKMifourlKM.venly inli'Mt"""- ''"'-"". , j,,^ Uiin 

;; ti„. K.avo us th. P"'■'!'^^"' '■;":'" ;Vv,.„,"M.r.:,ouu,i, 



26 Greenmount Cemetery. 

heavenly mindedness, to be coufoniied to the likeness of Christ: 
to live by faith in the Son of God ; that we may die in hope, and 
go down to the chambers of the dead, rich in all the promises of 
the everlasting covenant. And O God, who dost now make 
darkness thy pavilion about tliee, in that day, when the last 
trumpet shall sound through all the secret cavei of the ocean, and 
deep recesses ot the earth, and when the voice of the archangel 
shall call fortlj the slumbering generations of men from the silent 
abode of ages, may we rise to a glorious resurrection, justified by 
faith, may we mingle in that great assembly, which cannot be 
numbered for multitude, with bodiei glorified, affections sublimed, 
faculties perfected, to bee Thee face t > face, and to expatiate 
in immortal youth. 

Our great Mediator, incarnate for m-m, who didst vouchsafe 
that thy sacred body should repose in the tomb of Joseph, own 
and bless this our undertaking. In thy name, we now dedicate 
this field " to be a burying place ; " that, in the bonds of a common 
faith, they whose remains shall be here consigned to their parent 
earth, rcay together rest in safety and hope. May the hallowing 
influences of thy gospel ever abidt, in peaceful sway throughout 
this awful sanctuary of the dead And, when thou shalt stand at 
the latter day upon the earth, and the mountains shall quake, and 
the hills shall melt, may the awakening inhabitants of this city of 
the dead, through thy merits and intercession, O blessed Lord 
Jesus, have a building of God, a house not made with hands 
eternal in the heavens 



HYMN, 

BY J. H. B. LATROBE, ESQ., SUNG BY MUSICAL ASSOCIATION. 

W'e meet not now wliere pillar'd aisles, 

In long and dim perspective fade; 
No dome, by human hands uprear'd. 

Gives to this spot its solemn shade 
Our temple is the woody vale, 

Whose forest cools the heated hours; 
Our infjense is the balmy gale, 

W hose perfume is the spoil of flowers. 

Yet here, where now the living meet. 

The shrouded dead ere long will rest. 
And grass now trod beneath our I'eet, 

Will mournful wave above our br« ast 
Here birds will sinj^- their notes of praise. 

When summer hours are bright and warm ; 
And winter's sweeping winds will raise, 

The sounding anthe^ns of the storm. 



Greenmount Cemetery. 2*7 

Then now, while life's warm currents flow, 

While restless throbs the anxious heart. 
Teach us, oh Lord, thy power to know, 

Thy grace, oh Lord our God, impart: 
That when, beneath this verdant soil, 

Our dust to kindred dust is given; 
Our souls, released from mortal coil, 

May find, with thee, their rest in Heaven. 



ADDRESS, 

by hon john p. kennedy. 
My Friends— 

We have been called together at this place to distinguish, by an 
appropriate ceremonial, the establishment of the Greenmount 
Cemetery. It is gratifying to perceive, in this large assemblage 
of the inhabitants of our city, a proof of the interest they take in 
the accomplishment of this design. To a few of our public-spirited 
citizens we are indebted for this laudable undertaking, and I feel 
happy in the opportunity to congratulate them upon the eminent 
success with which their kibors are likely to be crowned. 

It is a natural sentiment that leads man to the contemplation of 
his final resting place. In the arrangement of the world there is 
no lack of remembrancers to remind us of dissolution. This 
unsteady navigation of life, with its adverse winds, its sunken 
rocks and secret shoals, its dangers of the narrow strait and open 
sea, is full of warning of shipwreck, and, even in its most prosper- 
ous conditions, awakens the mind to the perception that we are 
making our destined haven with an undesired speed. 

Childhood has its dream of destruction ; youth has its shudder 
at the frequent funeral pageant that obtrudes upon his gambols ; 
manhood courts acquaintance with danger as the ftimiiiar priee 
of success, and old age learns to look upon death with a cheerful 
countenance and to hail him as a companion This theatre of 
life, is it not even more appropriately a theatre of death? What 
is our title to be amongst the living, but a title derived from 
mortality ? That extinction which tracked the footsteps of those 
who went before us and overtook them, made room for us, 
and brought us to this inheritance of air and light ; — they who are 
to follow us will thank Death for their return upon earth. He is 
the patron of posti-rity, and the great provider for the present 
generation. We subsist by his labor; we are fed by his hand ; to 
him we owe all tliis fabric of human production, these arts of 
civiliz ition, these beneficent and beautifying toils, these wonder- 
working handicratts and head fancies, that have filled this world 
with the marvels of man's genius. From Death springs Necessity. 
and from Necessity all man's triumphs over nature. Look abroad 
and tell me what has brought fovth this beautiful scheme of 



28 Greenmount Cemetery. 

art which we call the world ; what has invented all this eagioeiy 
of society; what has appointed it for man to toil, and given these 
multiform rewards to his labor; why, with the rising sun, goes he 
forth cheerily to his vocation, and endures the heat and burden of 
the day with such good heart. It is because Death has taught him 
to strive against Hunger and Want. Without such strife, this 
fair garden were but a liorrid wilderness — this populous array of 
Christian men but some scattered horde of starving cannibals. 
Again look abroad, anil tell me what is this universal motion of 
the elements, this perpetual progress from seed-time to harvest, 
these silent workings of creation, and unceasing engenderments of 
new forms, — what is this wiiole plan, but a mass of life ever 
springing from the compost of death, — sensible, breathing 
essences, melting away like flakes of snow, millions in every 
moment, and out of their destruction new living things forever 
coming forth ? Look to our own race. Even as the forest sinks 
to the earth under the sweep of the storm, or by the woodman's 
axe, or by the touch of Time, so our fellow men fall before 
the pestilence, or by tlie sword, or in the decay of age. The dead 
a thousandfold outnumber those that live: 

All that tread 
The globe, are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. 

In the niidst of these tokens, do we stand in need of lectures to 
remind us that we are but for a season, and that very soon we are 
to be without a shadow on this orb ? Child of the dust, answer! 
Confess, as I know in you" secret breathings you must, that in the 
watches of the night, when wakefulness has beset your pillow, or 
in the chance seclusion of the day, when toil has been suspended 
nay, even in the very eager importunity of business, and often in 
the wildest moment of revelry, this question of death and his con- 
ditions has come unbidden to liie mind, and with a strange 
familiarity of fellovvship has urged its claim to be entertained 
in your meditations Thus d«ath grows upon us, and becomes, at 
last, a domestic comrade thought. 

Kind is it in the order of Providence thit we are,^ in this wise, 
bade to make ourselves ready for that inevitable day when 
our bodies shall sleep upon the lap of our mother earth. Wise in 
us is it, too, to bethink ourselves of this in time, not only that we 
may learn to walk humbly in the presence of our Creator, but 
even for that lesser care, the due disposal of that visible remainder 
which is to moulder into dust after the spirit has returned to God 
who gave ii. Though to the eye of cold philosophy there may be 
nothing in that remainder worthy of a monument, and though, in 
contrast witli the heaven lighted hopes of a Cliristian, it may 
seem to be but dr jss too base to merit liis care, yet still there is an 
acknowledged longing of the heart that when life's calenture 
is over, and its stirring errand done, this apt and .ielieate machine 



Gheenmount Cemetery. 29 

by which we have wrought our work, this serviceable body 
whereof our ingenuity has found something lo be vain, shall 
lie down to its long rest in some place agreeable to our livin^ 
fancies, and be permitted, in undisturbed quiet, to commingle with 
its parent earth. Tlie sentiment ifc strong in my bosom, — 1 doubt 
not it is shared by many, — to feel a keen interest in tiie mode and 
circumstances of that long sleep whicn it is appointed to each and 
all of us to sleep I do not wi?li to lie down in the crowded city. 
I would not be jostled in my narro:, house, — much less have my 
dust give place to the intrusion of later comers : I would not have 
the stone memorial that marks mv resting-plnce to be gazed upon 
by the business-perplexed crowd in tlieir every day pursuit of 
gain, and -where they ply llieir tiicks of custon). Amidst tliis din 
and traffic of the living is no fit place for the dead. My affection 
is for the country, that God- made country, where Nature is the 
pure first-born of the Divinity, and all tokens around are of Truth. 
My tomb should be beneath the bowery trees, on some pleasant 
liill-side, within sound of the clear prattling brook; where the air 
comes fresh and filled with the perfume of Mowers; where the 
early violet greets the spring, and the sweet-briar blooms, and the 
woodbine ladens with the dews its fragrance; 

Where tlie shower and the singing bird 
'Midfet the green leaves are heard— 

where the yellow leaf of autumn sh.ill play in the wind; and 
where the winter's snow shall fall in noiseless tlikes and lie'in un- 
spotted brightness; — the changing seasons thus syniboling forth, 
even within the small precincts of my rest, tliat birth and growth 
and fall wliich marked my mortal state, and, in the renovation of 
Spring, giving a glad type of that resurrection which shall no less 
Burely be mine. 

I think it may be set down somewhat to the reproach of our 
country that we too much neglect this care of the dead. It be- 
tokens an amiable, venerating, and religious people, to see the 
tombs of their foref^ithers not only carefully preserved, but em- 
bellished with those natural accessories which display a thoughtful 
and appropriate reverence. The pomp of an overlabored and 
costly tomb scarcely may escape the criticism of a just ta^te: that 
tax which ostentation is wont to pay to the living in the luxury 
of sculptured marble dedicated to the dead, often attracts disgust 
by its extravagant disproportion to the merits of its object ; but a 
becoming respect for those from whom we have sprung, an affec- 
tionate tribute to our departed friends and the friends of our an- 
cestors, manifested in the security with which we guard their re- 
mains, and in the neatness with which we adorn the spot where 
they are deposited, is no less honorable to the survivors than it is 
lespectful to the dead. " Our fathers," says an eloquent old writer, 
"find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we 
may be buried in our survivors." It is a good help fo these " short 



30 Greenmount Cemetery. 

memories," and a more than pardouable vanity, to keep recollection 
alive by monuments that may attract the eye and arrest the step, 
long after the bones beneath them shall have become part of the 
common mould. 

I think "sve too much neglect this care of the dead. No one cant 
travel through our land without being impressed with a disagree- 
ble sense of" our inditierence to the adornment and even to the 
safety of the burial places. How often have I stopped to note the 
village grave-yard, occupying a cheerless spot by the road-sider 
Its ragged fence furnishing a scant and ineffectual barrier against 
the iuv^^sion of trespassing cattle, or beasts still more destructive ; 
its area deformed with rank weeds,— the Jamestown, the dock, snd 
llie mullen ; and for shade, no better furniture than some dwarfish^ 
scrubby, incongruous tree, meagre of leaves, gnarled and un- 
graceful, rising solitary above the coarse, unshorn grass. And 
there were the graves,— an unsightly array of naked mounds; 
some with no more durable memorial to tell who dwelt beneath^ 
than a decayed, illegible tablet of wood, or if if better than this, the 
best of them with coverings of crumbling brick masonry and dislo- 
cated slabs of marble, forming perchance, family groups, environed 
by a neglected paling of dingy black, too plainly showing how en- 
tirely the occupancy had gone from the thoughts of their survi- 
vors. Not a pathway was there to indicate that here had ever 
come the mourner to look upon the grave of a friend, or that this 
was tlie haunt of a solitary footstep, benthither for profitable med- 
itation. I felt myself truly amongst the deserved mansions of the 
dead, and have turned from the spot to seek again the haunts of 
the living, out of the very chill of the heart which such a dilapida- 
ted scene had cast upon me. Many such places of interment may- 
be found in the country. 

It is scarce belter in the cities. There is more expense, it is true 
and more care — for the tribuie paid to mortality in the crowded 
city renders the habitations of its dead a more frequent resort. 
But in what concerns the garniture of these cemeteries, in all that 
relates to the embellishment appropriate to their character and 
their purpose, how much is wanting I Examine around our own 
city. You shall find more than one grave-yard enclosed with but 
the common post and rail fence and occupying the most barren 
spot of ground, in a suburb near to where the general ofial of the 
town is strewed upon the plain and taints the air with its offen- 
sive exhalations. You will observe it studded with tombs of suf- 
ficiently neat structure, but unsoftened by the shade of a single 
shrub— or, if not entirely bare, still so naked of the simple orna- 
ment of tree and flower, as to afford no attraction to the eye,, 
no solicitation to the footstep of the visitor. Thai old and toach- 
iog appeal '' siste m^or," is made to the wayfarer from its desolate 
marbles in vain : there is nothing to stop the traveler and wring a 
sigh from his bosom, unless it be to find mortality so cheaply dealt 
with in these uncheery solitudes. We have cometeries better 



Greenmount Cemetery. 31 

than these, where great expense has been incurred to give them 
greater secui ily and more elaborate ornament ; but these too — 
«veu the best of them — are sadly repulsive to ihefeelint^?, from the 
air of overcrowed habitjition, and too lavish expenditure of marble 
and granite within their narrow limitp. This pres3 for space, the 
result of an under-estimale, in the infancy of the city, of what 
time might require, has compelled the exclusion of that rural 
adornment so appropriate to the dwellings of the dead, — so appro- 
priate because so pure and natural — the deep shade, the verdant 
turf, the flower-enamelled bank, with their concomitants, the hum 
of bees and carol of summer birds I lii^e not these lanes of pon- 
derous granite pyramid, these gloomy unwindowed l>locks of 
black and white marble, these prison- shaped walls, and that harsh 
gate of rui-ty iron, slow moving on its grating hinges I I cannot 
afi^ect this sterile and sunny solitude. Give me back the space 
the quiet, the simple beauty and natural repose of the country I 

The profitable u^es of the Cemetery are not confined to the 
security it affords the dead: The living may find in it a treasure 
of wholesome instruction. That heart wiiich does not seek com- 
munion with the grave, and dwell with calm and even pleasurable 
meditation on the charge which nature's great ordinance has 
decreed, has laid up but scant provision against the weariness or 
the perils of this world's pilgrimage. " Measure not thyself by 
thy morning shadow, but by the extent of thy grave," is the 
solemn invocation which the departed spirit whispers into the ear 
of the living man. The tomb is a laithful counsellor, and may not 
wisely be estranged from our view. It tells us the great truth that 
Death is not the Destroyer, but Time; it counsels us that Time is 
our friend or foe, as we ourselves fashion him, and it warns us to 
make a friend of Time for the sake ol Eternity. That this instruc- 
tion may be often repeated and planted deep in our minds, I 
would have the public ijurial ground not remote from our habita- 
tions. It should be sealed in some nook &f) peaceful and pleasant 
.as to beguile the frequent rambler to its shades and win him to the 
contemplation of himself And though it should not be far from 
•the dwellings of men, yet neither should it be cheapened in 
their eyes by bordering too obviously on the path of their common 
daily out-doings. Screens of thick folinge should shut it out from 
the road-side, or reveal it only in such glimpses as inight show the 
wayfarer the sequesterment of the spot, and raise in his mind 
s. respect tor the reverence with which the slumber of the dead has 
been secured. There should evergreens relieve the bleak land- 
scape of winter, and blooming thickets render joyous the approach 
-of spring Amongst these should rise the monuments of the 
-departed. Here, a lowly tablet, half hid beneath the plaited 
vines, to tell of some quiet, unobtrusive spirit that, even in 
the grave, had sought the modest privilege of being not too curi- 
ously scanned by the world ; there, a ricli column on the beetling 
brow of the hill, with its tatitetul carvings and ambitious sculpture, 



^ 32 Greexmount Cemetery. 

to note the resting: place of some favorite of fame or fortune. At 
many an iaterval, peeriugt through the Bhubbery, the variously 
•wrought tombs should unfold to the eye of the observer a visible 
index to that world of character which death had subdued into si- 
lence and group together under these diversified emblems of 
his power. There, matron and maid, parent and child, friend and 
brother, should be found so associated that their very environ* 
mei ts i-lu)uld communicate something the story of their lives. 
Every thing around him should inspire the visitor with the senti- 
ment that he walked among the relics of a generation dear to itg 
survivois. The sanctity and silence of the place, with its quiet 
walks, its retired seats beneath overhanging boughs, its brief histo- 
ries chronicled in stone, and its moral lessons uttered by speaking 
marble, — all these should allure him to meditate upon that great 
mystery of the grave, and teach him to weigh the vocations of this 
atom of time against the concerns of that long eternity upon 
which these tenants of the tomb bad already entered. What 
heaitwarnings would he gather in that meditation against 
the enticements of worldly favor ! How soberly would he learn 
to reckon the chances of slippery ambition, the rewards of fortune, 
and the arat'fications of sense ! 

We misjudge the world if we deem that even the most thought- 
less of mankind have not a chord in their hearts to vibrate to the 
solemn harmony of such an atmosphere as this Tliere is no slave 
of passion so dull to the persuasions of conscience, no worldling 
so bold in defying the proper instinct of his manliood, but would 
sometimes steal t.> a place like this to discourse with his own heart 
upon the awful qutsiion of futurity. Here would he set him down 
at the base of some comrade's recently erected tomb, and make a 
reckoning of his own Heeling day and then, with resolve of better 
life — a resolve which even the habit of his iieedless career, per- 
chance, has not power to stifle— go forth stoutly bent on its 
achievement Hit! er, in levity, would jtray many a careless foot- 
step, but not in levity depait. The chance caught warning of the 
tomb would attemper the mind to a sober tone of virtue, and long 
a.terwards linger upon the memory. To this lesort, the heart per- 
plexed with wordly strivings and wearied with the appointments 
of daily care, would fiv for the very rel'efofthat lesson on the 
vanity of human pu' suits which this mute s?ene would leach with 
an ek.qnence passing human endurance. 

Such considetat'ors as these lave not been with.mt their weight 
in pron^pting the enterprise which we are a-semble 1 this day to 
commemorate Our friends to whom the city is indebted for this 
design. lia\e Avith great judgment and success, in the se'ection of 
the place aiid in the organ -zation of their plan, sought to combine 
the benefit of these moral influences with the external or physical 
advantages of such an institution. T(>e Cemetery, like those 
which suggested its establishment, will be maintained under 
regulations adfipted to tho preservation of every public observance 
of ie!-pc( t whicij the privacy and the sanetity of the purposes to 



Greenmount Cemetery. 33 

which it is dedicated may require. Indeed, such institutions of 
themselves appeal so forcibly to the belter instincts of our nature, 
and raise up so spontaneously sentiments of respect in the human 
bosom, as to stand in need of litile rigor in the enforcement of the 
laws necessary to guard against violation Tlie experience of our . 
people in their usefulness is limited to but few years; yet, brief as 
is the term, it is v^orthy of observation that no public establishment 
seems to have excited a more affectionate interest in the mind of 
the country, or enlisted a readier patronage than this mode of pro- 
viding for the repose of the dead. Within the last ten years, the , 
-cemeteries of Mount Auburn and LaureVHill have been construct- 
ed. They already constitute the most attractive objects to the re- 
search of the visitor in the environs of the cities to which they 
belong Scarce an inhabitant of Boston or Philadelphia who does ■ 
not testify to the pride with which he regards the public cemetery 
in his neighborhood. No traveler, with the necessary leisure on - 
his hands, is content to quit those cities without an excuision to 
Mount Auburn or Laurel Hill; and the general praise of the public 
voice is expressed in every form in which the home dweller or the 
stranger can And utterance to pay a tribute to these beautiful im- 
.pruvements of the recent time. 

This Cemetery of Greenmount constructed on the same plan, 
may advantageously compare with those to which I have alluded. 
It is more accessible than Mount Auburn ; it is more spacious than 
that in the neighborhood of Philadelphia; and, in point of scene- ' 
ry, both as respects the improvement of tlie grounds, and the ad- 
jacent country, it is, at least equal to either. I i<now not where 
the eye may find more pleasant landscapes than those which sur- 
round us. Here, within our enclosures, how aptly do these sylvan 
embellishments harmonize with the design of the place! — this 
venerable grove of ancient forest; this lawn, shaded with choicegt 
trees ; tl)at green meadow, where the brook creeps through the 
tangled tliicket begemmed with wild flowers; these embowered al- 
leys and pathways hidden in shrubbery, and that grassy knoll 
studded with evergreens and sloping to the cool dell where tde 
fountain ripples over its pebbly bed: — all hemmed in by yon nat- 
ural screen of foliage which seems to separate this beautiful spot 
from the world and devote it to the tranquil uses towhich it is now 
to be applied. Beyond the gate that guards these precincts, we gaze 
upon a landscape rife with all the charms that hill and dale, forest- 
clad heights and cultured fields may contribute to enchant the 
€ye That stream which northward cleaves the woody hills, comes 
murmuring to our feet, rich with the retlectioasof the bright heaven 
and the green earth; thence kaping along between its granite 
banks, hastens towards the city wliose varied outline of tower, 
steeple and dome, gilded by the evening sun and softened by the 
haze, seems to sleep in perspective against the southern sky: and 
there, fitly stationed within our view, that noble column, destined 
to immortality from the name it bears, lifts high above the ancient 
oaks that crown the hill, the venerable foim of the Father of his 
Country a majestic image of the deathleisness of virtue. 



34 Gree^'mouxt Cemetery. 

Though Pcaicc an half hour's walk from yon living mart where 
one hundred thousand human beings toil in their noisy crafts, here 
the deep quiet of the country leigns, broken by no ruder voice 
thansucli as marks the tranquility of rural life. — the voice of '* hire's 
on hranchf s warbling," — the lowing of distant cattle and the whet- 
ting of the mf)wer's scythe. Yet tidings of the city not unpleasant- 
ly reach the ear in the faint murraur,which at interval's, is borne 
hither upon the freshening breeze, and ucore gratefully still in 
the deep tones of lliat cathedral bell, 

Swinging slow with sullen roar, 

as morning and noon, and richer at eventide, it flings its pealing 
n;elody across these sha<'les with an invocE^tion that might charm 
the lingering visitor to prayer. 

To such a spot as this have we come to make provision for our 
long rest ; and hither, even as drop follows drop in the rain, shall 
the future generations that may people our city find their way, 
and sleep at our sides. It may be a vain fani^y, yet still it is not 
unpleasingr, that in that long future our present fellowships may be 
preserved, and that the friends and kindred who now cherish their 
living association shall not be far separated in the tomb. Here is 
space for every denomination of religious society, leaving room for 
eacli to preserve its appropropriate ceremonies; and here too may 
the city set aoart a quarter for public use That excellent custom, 
the more ex( ellent because it is so distinctly classical in its origin, 
of voting a public tomb to eminent citizens, a custom yet unknown 
to UH, Itrus', will, in the establishment of this Cemetery, find an 
argument for its adoption : that here may be recorded the public 
giatitude to a public beuefactor; and in some conspicuous division 
of these grounds, the sti anger may read the history of the states- 
man, the divine, the philanthropist, the soldier or the scholar, 
whose deeds have improved, or win se fame adorned the city. In 
such monuments virtue finds a cheering friend, youth a noble in- 
centive, and the heart of every man a grateful topic of remem- 
brance. I mistake our fellow-citizens if it would not gratify them 
*0 ; ee their public authorities adopt this custom. 

There is something in the spectacle of a living generation 
employed in the selection of their own tombs that speaks favoribly 
for their virtue It testifies to a rational, reflecting piety; it tells 
of life unhaunted by the terrors of death, of sober thought, and 
serene reckoning of the past day. Our present meditntions have 
not unreasonably fallen upon these topics, and I would fain hope 
that they will leave us somewhat the wiser at our parting. The 
very presence of this scene, in connection with the purpose 
that brought us hither, sheds a silent icsi ruction on the, heart. 
How does it recall the warning of Scrijiture, *'Go to now, ye that 
say to-day or to morrow we will go into such a city, and continue 
there a year, and buy and sell and get gain ; whereas ye know not 
•what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even 



Greenmount Cemetery. 35 

a vapor that appeareth for a little time and tliea vanisheth away." 
This grove now untenanted by a siQa:le lodger, this upland plain, 
tind all these varied grounds, in the brief space of a few genera- 
tions, shall become a populous dwelling-place of the dead. Hither 
then will come the inmates of yon rapidly -increasing city, in their 
holiday walks, to visit our tombs, and gaze upon the thick- strewed 
monuments that shall meet them on every path Amongst these 
some calm moralist of life, some thoughtful observer of man and 
his aims, will apply himself 'here to study the past— his past, 
and whilst he lingers over the inscriptions that shall tell him 
of this busy crowd, who intently ply what we deem the important 
labors of to-day, — alas, how shrunk and dwarfed shall we appear 
in his passing: comment! A line traced by the chisel upon 
the stone shall tell all, and more perhaps than posterity may be 
concerned to know, about us and our doings. Which of us shall 
reach a second generation in that downward journey of fame ? 
How many of these events which now fill our minds, as matters 
belonging to the nation's destiny, shall stand recorded before the 
eye of that aftertime ? How much of our personal connection with 
present history, these strivings of ours to be noted in the descent 
of time, these clamorous invocations of posterity, these exaggera- 
tions of ourselves and our deeds shall be borne even to the begin- 
ning of the next half-century ? Here is a theme for human vanity ! 
Let it teach us humility, and in humility that wisdom which shall 
set us to so ordering our lives, that in our deaths those who 
survive us may be instructed how to win the victory over 
the grave. Then shall our monuments be more worthy to be 
cherished by future generations, and the common doom of 
oblivion, perchance, be averted by better remembrances than 
these legends on our tombs, in this anticipation we may find 
something not ungrateful in the thoughts, that whilst all mortal 
beings march steadily onward " to cold obstruction," we sink into 
our gradual dust upon a couch chosen by ourselves, with many 
memorials of friendship and esteem clustered around our remains, 
and that there we shall sleep secure until the la^st summons shall 
command the dead to arise, and call us into the presence of a mer- 
ciful God. 

It does not fall to my province to pursue these reflections within 
the confines to whicli they so plainly lead us. Such topics belong 
to a more solemn forum, and a better provided orator ; I dare not 
invade their sacred field. My task required no more than that I 
should present those public considerations which have induced the 
establishment of this Ceaietery; the subject has naturally brought 
me to the verge of that sublime mystery, from which, in reverence 
only, I turn back mj steps. 

In closing my duties at this point, I may assume, without tran- 
scending my assigned privilege, to speak a parting word. Our 
thoughts have been upon the grave— our discourse has been 
of death. It is good for us to grow familiar with this theme; but 
only good, as weighing its manifold conditions, we deduce from 
the study of its urgent persuasions to a life of piety and virtue. 



36 Greenmount Cemetery. 



"So live that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of Death, 
Thou go not like the quarry slave at night, 
Scourgd to his dungeon : but sustaln'd and sooth'd 
By an unfaltering trust approach thy grave 
Lii^e one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 



K IT 3S^ nsr. 

By Frank H. Davidge, Esq. 

Fount of mercieS' — •source of love. 

List the hymns we raise to thee ; 
From thy holy throne above, 

Heedful of our worship be. 

Creatures of thy sov'reign will, 

At thy feet we humbly bend ; 
Let thy grace our bosoms fill, 

Be our comfort — 'be our friend. 

Here beneath the sunlit sky, 

With thy gifts around us spread ; 
We beseech thee — from on high — 

Bless these dAV el lings of the dead. 

•Guard them when the summer's glow, 

Decks with beauties, hill and dale ; 
Guard them when the winter's snow, 
Spreads o'er all its mantle pale. 

Here — when wearied pilgrims cease, 
O'er life's chequered scenes to roam, 

May their ashes rest in peace, 

'Till thy voice shall call thera home. 

Then, oh then — their trials done, 
Bid them rise to worship thee, 
Where the ransomed of thy Son, 
Join in endless harmony. 

The ceremonies of the dedication were then concluded tvith a 
Benediction from the Rev. J. G. Hamner, Pastor of the Fifth 
•Presbyterian Church in Baltimore. 



GreeNxMount Cemetery. 37 

THE FIRST GRAVE. • 

BY s. T. Wallis, Esq. 

The city of the dead hath thrown wide its gates at last, 

And, through the cold gray portal, a fun'ral train hath passed-^ 

One grave— the first— is open, and on its lonelv bed, 

Some heir of siu and sorrow hath come to lay his head. 

Perchance a hero cometh, whose chanlet, in its bloom, 
Hath fallen from his helmet, to wither on his tomb : 
It may be that hot youth comes — it may b« we behold, 
Here, broken at the cistern, pale beauty's bowl of gold. 

Mayhap that manhood's struggle, despite of pride and poTver, 
Hath ended in the darkness and sadntss of this hour, 
Perchance some white-haired pilgrim, with travel sore oppressed. 
Hath let his broken staff fall, and bent him down to rest. 

But stay, behold the sepulchre ! nor age, nor strength is there • 
Nor fame, nor pride, nor manhood, those lagging mourners bear; 
A little child is with them,* as pale and pure as snow, 
Her mother's tears not dry yet, upon her gentle brow I 

The step that tottered, trembling, — the heart that faltered too, 
At the faintest sound of terror the infant spirii knew — 
The eyes that glistened, tearful, when shadowy eve came on — 
Now show no dread of sleeping in darkuess and alone. 

And why, though all be lonely, should that young spirit fear, 
Through midnight and through tempest — no shielding bosom near? 

Ere the clod was on the coffin — ere the spade had cleft the clod 

Bright angels clad a fellow in the raiment of their God I 

Green home of future thousands! how blest in sight of heaven, 
Are these, the tender firstlings, that death to thee has given I 
Though prayer and solemn anthem have echoed from thy hill, 
This first, fresh grave of childhood, hath made thee holier still 1 

The morning flosvers that deck ihee, shall sweeter, lovelier, bloom 
Above the spot Avhere beauty, like theirs, hath found a tomb. 
And when the evening cometh, the very stars sliall keep 
A vigil, as of seraphs, where innocence doth sleep ! 

Sweet hope ! that, when the slumbers of thy pilgrims shall be o'er 
And the valley of death's shadow hath mystery no more, 
To them, the trumpet's clangor may whisper accents mi'd, 
And bid them wear the garlands that crown this little child. 

1845. 

♦The first person buried in Greoainount Cemetery was au infant. 



38 Greenmount Cemetery. 






1 



|ROM the remotest antiquity human sepulture has received 
special attention from the nations of the earth. 

The remotest traditions and records of people indicate 
that inhumation or earth-burial was the kind most generally 
practiced. 

The first recorded instance of human burial is found in 
Genesis, "And Abraham buried Sarah, his wife, in the cave 
of the field of Machpelat." 

Jacob, when he was about to die, charged his sons to 
bury him in the cave with his fathers, — for the reason that 
** There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife, — there 
they buried Isaac and Rebecca, his wife, — and there he had 
buried Leah." And when Jacob died, his sons carried him 
into the land of Canaan and buried him in the cave in the 
field of Machpelat. 

When, after the crucifixion, Pilate gave the body of 
Christ to Joseph, he took it down from the cross — wrapped it 
in linen and laid it in a sepulchre hewn in the rock, 
and rolled a stone before the mouth. Oaly three witnesses and 
mourners were present at this burial of Jesus, — Joseph, 
Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James, of Joses, 
and Salome. 

Some oriental nations resorted to burning the dead body — 
cremation, and preserved the ashes io urns — urn burial — or 
placed them in coffins rapidly destructive to the flesh — 
sarcophagi — flesh-eating. 

The ancient Egyptians and others practiced embalming, 
and the embalmed bodies of their kings were deposited 
in chambers and niches of their Pyramids. 



Greenmount Cemetery. 39 

The ancient mounds and tumuli found throughout the 

western area of this Continent, 10,000 of them being in the 

State of Ohio alone, and in Mexico and Peru, were the 

mausolea of the distinguished dead of these ancient and 

extinct races who erected them. 

The North American Indians in the burial of their dead 
practiced a rude mode of embalming, and in the plaee 
of inhumation or earth-burial, deposited them upon a rude 
platform elevated above the ground. 

The Greeks and Komans were renowned for the refinement 
and taste they displayed |in the adornment of their burial 
places, and the genius of the sculptor was never more happily 
evoked than when employed to preserve in imperishable 
marble some royal personage, glorious hero or radiant 
beauty. 

Grecian classic literature describes the ancient mode of 
burial, and Homer in Hellenie verse describes the pomp and 
magnificence of Athenian burial. 

Most of the nations of antiquity buried their dead outside 
tbeir city walls, from a dread apprehension of a pestilential 
influence of dead bodies; and the ancient Romans were for- 
bidden by a law of the twelve tables to bury within the walls 
of ancient Rome. 

Upon nearly all Roman grave-stones was inserted ** Liste, 
Viator — " 

" Halt Traveller." 



EST.A.BXjISia:EI3 1820. 



SUCCESSORS TO A. GaOOESS. 

$tmm ^Bills If ®ili, 

OFFICE k SHQW-nOQMS, 
Cor, Sharp & G-erman Streets. 

Steam Saw and Workshop, 

106, 108 & 110 S. Charles Street, 



We respectfully call the atteDtion of lot-holders to our large 

stock of 

Italian & American Marble 

MonumeDtal Tablet Head-Stones, Tombs, Head and Foot 
Stones, Monumental Figures of new and beautiful De- 
signs, also, Scotch and American Granite 
MonuQicnts of our own Design 
always on hand or 
imported to 
order. 

CEMETERY LOTS enclosed with Marble Curbing and 



Posts. 



& 



JSSrK call is respectfully solicited, which will not incur 
the least obligation to purchase. 



J. EDWARD FEAST. 

I 



FLO 






No. 56 N. Charles St., 



'J 1 






Cut a^^lowei'^ 'ar^d 'l^lkqt^ r\-irili^l\etl 



-FOU 



^^1 



Crosses, Crowns, Pillows, Anchors, &c., 



ALL KINDS OF 



AT SHORT NOTICE, 

Sent promptly on order to all parts of 
the country. 



Henry W. Jenkins. 



Thos. W. Jenkins, 



HENRY W. JENKINS & SON, 



No, 16 Light Street. 



^ 



lllitlEillllll 



(^^Ir 




kthh 



v» 



Residence of Henry W. Jenkins, 
164 barre street. 



Residence of Thomas W. Jenkins. 

^ 70 SARATOGA STREET. 



